


strange habit

by teethingmaw



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Dante fucks that one miniboss, Demon Sex, No Beta, Other, PWP, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 07:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18544966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethingmaw/pseuds/teethingmaw
Summary: The fight with the fury goes a little bit differently.





	strange habit

 

                Sometimes, Dante’s cockiness overrides his senses. He’s man enough to admit that much.

                He’s got the fury on its last legs, shivering and sluggish, pale eyes following his every move with anxious focus. It swipes at him and he barely has to dodge anymore. There’s blood streaming down the length of its body from the wound in its shoulder, where Dante had nearly hacked its arm off – the right one, where the blade has long stayed sheathed since Dante started getting the upper hand.

                It barely moves that arm now, and so Dante writes it off. A tad prematurely. 

                High off the rush that can only come from a good fight, Dante doesn’t think; he charges at it, taunting it while aiming his sword for its neck. He doesn’t see it until the last second, but the fury brings up its injured arm when he gets close and snatches him around the neck, before tossing him bodily into a wall - where he lands on some fragile sacs of gas that _explode_ on impact.

                He has no idea what they are. There are all kinds of bullshit when it came to demons and the places demons liked to hang out in. Long ago, Dante stopped questioning things that didn’t have to do with “which direction to the next fight?”

                Dizzy, Dante blinks and tries to get his bearings, but his head feels light, like it might just roll right off his shoulders and start floating away. The smell is cloying, vaguely coppery like blood, and he inhales enough of it to start coughing.

                Across from him, the fury starts stomping over toward him, gathering its momentum until its breaking out into a dead sprint. Dante rolls away just in time, and the demon storms right through the thick red cloud. It stumbles to a stop, all grace completely forgotten as it scratches at its own face and starts sneezing, head twitching side to side, tail thrashing wildly in the dirt. Groggily, Dante pulls himself to his feet, listing on his jelly legs for an alarming second; his sword is a few paces away, and he’s feeling awfully close to barfing, but he reckons he can hold onto it long enough to dash over.

                But as he takes a step, the dizziness peters off and his eyes begin to refocus; blurriness straightens out into sharpness – _too_ sharp – with everything becoming too bright and too much. He rubs the heel of his hand hard into his eye sockets, tries to quell the strange churning in his belly, which is moving away from nausea and fast becoming something else.

                A few feet away, he hears the fury thrashing and growling.

                “Oh, shi…” Dante shivers, feeling all the blood in his body racing south.

                The fury quiets down, rumbling low in its throat. Dante sees it hunched over, tail curled between its legs and holding its own head in its hands. Its back ripples with movement, scales rolling against each other in a mesmerizing sweep of deep, dark red; there’s very little light in this place, and what little of it seems to catch on the creature’s jagged skin. Without thinking, Dante reaches out his hand – but he’s too far away and when his fingertips find only air, he snaps out of it with a huff.

                He wants to touch something. Or be touched. Either works – his skin just tingles, warm and too cool all at once, desperate for the feel of something against it.

                Slowly, the fury raises its head and turns its pale, green gaze over to Dante, tongue slowly sliding out of the trap of its mouth and licking along its own teeth. Its claws clench in the air; a single mindless twitch, Dante’s echo. For a moment, they stare at one another; Dante’s got a good notion of what it’s thinking about, because it has to be the same as what _he’s_ thinking about it. Whatever was in that sac hit them both, it looks like.  

                A quiet chuckle comes out of his mouth. His work takes him to interesting places.

                Heat pools in his belly and he forgets about going for his sword. Instead, Dante shakes some of his hair out of his face, away from his sweating skin and reaches up to fiddle with the loose collar of his shirt. He makes up his mind in a second, loathe to let an opportunity like this pass him by.

                Hissing, the demon straightens its back and bares its teeth. Maybe it senses some of his aggression, or maybe it’s signaling in its own way. Dante glances down, to where the plates around its crotch are shifting, revealing some delicate, glistening skin underneath – and the suggestion of something else.

                “Huh,” says Dante, a smirk crawling across his face. “Glad to see I’m not gonna have to get creative…”

                He’s not sure he’s up to any kind of higher thinking right now, not with the way his head is fogging up and the way his mouth is flooding.

                It growls in response, tapering off into a purr as Dante comes closer, walking on unsteady legs. Palming his own front, Dante says: “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

                His thumb is barely grazing the zipper of his pants before he finds himself flat on his back, hands whipping out and intercepting a set of incoming teeth, holding it inches from his face with a grip on each jaw. He pricks some of his fingers on the edges of its fangs, feels the blood streaming down and soaking into his gloves. For a moment it just keeps trying to take a bite out of his head, mouth straining against his hands and snapping, tongue lolling out of its mouth like a starving dog. Its breath blows hotly on his cheeks, spittle hitting his skin, and Dante wrinkles his nose at the smell of its breath: blood and rot, and that special kind of _pungent_ that can only come from hell.

                The fury’s fingers tighten on his waist, claws nearly putting a hole in his shirt.

                “Careful,” he says, grinning right into its open maw. “You wreck my clothes and I’ll put you down before either of us get to have fun.”

                It rumbles, deep in its throat. He watches the way the muscles in its mouth contract as it does. 

                From time to time, Dante has wondered if the small fry he runs into could ever understand him. The big bads always do, always getting pissed enough to try and retaliate – but the goons never tended to say much.

                This one, though, does; he can see it in the way it shivers, feel it in the way it loosens up its grip on him almost instantly. A ripple goes down its enormous back, and its tongue reaches out to slide up the side of Dante’s neck as it purrs, jaw slackening. That wet slit at its crotch opens a little more, looking sticky and excited.  

                “There you go,” Dante murmurs, smirking. He can’t take his eyes off it. “Glad we understand each other.”

                He releases its mouth and gives it a rough scratch down it’s serrated chest, and chuckles when its tail sweeps tellingly on the ground. The sounds of jostled pebbles and rough hide on rock shriek in his ears, his senses keyed up and running overtime.

                Dante hasn’t run into this kind of encounter in a long while, longer than he’d like to admit.

                With him, it isn’t always fighting; sometimes, something like this happens. And _this_ is the best part about solo runs – neither Lady nor Trish would ever understand, and Dante has never been the type to explain himself. When the girls are out doing their own thing, he does his – once upon a time, that sometimes meant playing teasingly along the frets of Nevan’s guitar until he could draw her out and they would have some fun together; or getting personal with Agni and Rudra, testing the prowess of each to see which of them he liked better (as long as they never talked).

                Not all his arms were so accommodating, so curious about him in turn, though: Echidna hated his guts almost as much as Beowulf did, and he and Cerberus just didn’t jive like that. And even Dante didn’t quite have the balls to test the waters with Pandora.

                It never stopped him from teasing them – not much ever stopped him from teasing _anyone_.

                Most of his old arms are stashed in dusty trunks in the storage rooms at Devil May Cry, sleeping their cares away. Lady always chided him about getting bored too fast; Dante always insisted that it was that drive that set the pros apart from the pretenders.

                “ _No_ ,” she’d said, rolling her eyes and swiping an olive from his slice of veggie deluxe – Trish got to choose, that time. “ _It’s probably all that demon blood getting to your head and choking out your brain._ ”

                The fury knows enough about clothes to start rucking up his shirt with its great big hand, claws dragging across the bare skin of his stomach. Dante leans back on his elbows, legs splayed open around its sides, watching it move and trying to figure him out.

                _Demon blood,_ he thinks. _Or maybe something altogether different_.

                Who knows? Too much introspection could take the wind out of any set of sails, and Trish always did accuse him of thinking too much with his sword and not his head, anyway. Whatever it is inside him that can only get its jollies from messing around with demons, it gets its way and Dante doesn’t ask too many questions.

                Milky eyes drop their gaze, taking in Dante’s bared torso. The fury’s tongue twitches between its teeth and Dante reaches out to pinch the damn thing between his thumb and forefinger.

                “I got places to be,” he says, giving the slippery muscle a light yank. It’s got a rough texture, almost like a cat’s. “So you gonna get this show on the road, or are you going to stare at the goods some more, huh?”

                It growls, low in its throat; for a tense couple of seconds, its arm glows in warning. But then it relaxes, pulling its tongue from Dante’s grip and dropping its head down to flick it at his nipples, and he shivers.  

                “That’s more like it,” he says – nearly coos – dropping his head back and staring up at the foliage growing out of the hole in the roof.

                He doesn’t have the presence of mind to be a little embarrassed at how quickly his body is reacting, weird hell-pollen or no. It’s been a lot longer than he would like since he’s last gotten any kind of action. The fury might not have been his first choice, all things considered, but he’s fired up and hotter under the collar than he’s ever been in recent memory – and the damn thing seems pretty intent on getting its rocks off, too. It’s a win-win.

                Dante peeks downward to where its huge, inhuman cock has popped completely free from its protective pouch, covered in a slick coating of the fury’s aroused juices. It’s a long, ribbed column of demonic flesh that Dante is sure would shred a human in half – a scaly mess of a thing, and Dante’s legs twitch apart in excitement at the thought of getting it inside him.

                Its tongue starts creeping slowly downward, slipping beneath the waistband of his pants. Dante jerkily yanks himself out of his jacket and shirt, shoving them aside before reaching down to pull his fly open and giving the demon more wiggle room. He’s never been the type for underwear, and at the first brush of its wet tongue on his bare cock Dante groans so loudly he’s pretty sure the fury actually blinks in surprise, halting for a half second in its exploration.

                He raps it harshly on top of its flat head, and it gets the message. As Dante pushes his pants down to mid-thigh, the fury opens its mouth wide to wrap its tongue around the whole of his cock, squeezing in a tight, hot way that a human tongue could never do. Shuddering, Dante reaches behind its head to pull it closer, crushing its nose against his pelvis; the top row of its teeth dig hard into his belly, drawing tiny pinpricks of blood. Dante bucks, fucking clumsily into the slick knot of its tongue, panting like an animal and raking his fingernails harshly against its crown.

                Its big hands clutch at his thighs, and there’s heat emanating from its right – the one where the blade pops out of. Past the broad expanse of its scaly back and the tall ridges of its spine, Dante can see its tail thrashing in excitement, in impatience. It huffs and growls against his cock, feeding off his responses; probably getting frustrated, Dante imagines.

                “Oh, all right,” Dante moans, as though he’s doing it a favour. “Go on then –” he slips a hand down between them to pointedly finger at his hole. “ – show me your moves then, tough guy.”

                The tongue whips off his cock so fast that Dante no longer has any doubts that it understands him, swiftly shifting gears and going right for his ass, obediently following directions. That long, dexterous muscle pushes its way next to his fingers, stretching him open and Dante flops right onto his back, panting. His thighs strain against the band of his pants and the fury’s enormous head between them, hair standing on end against the cool air.         

                Dante’s brain wars with itself: he’s not interested in taking something like _that_ completely dry and unprepared, but he’s also so keyed up that he wants to skip this part altogether. He kind of wants to tell it that they should hop right to the main event, but its tongue feels _unreal_. Letting his fingers slip out, Dante rides the sensation of it undulating inside of him, rocking his hips against its jagged, dangerous face with complete abandon. There’s chafing starting up on the inside of his thighs, but hell if he can care about that right now, not when it feels as good as it does.

                But soon enough the demon gets impatient and pulls away, and Dante nearly snarls at it, his hands clenching into sweaty fists.   

                Big fingers lock around his waist, and a second later the world spins as he’s flipped onto his front. He lands on his chest, knocking the air harshly from his lungs – “ _Finally_ ,” he snipes, laughing as the creature settles properly onto its haunches at his back. The slick tip of its brutal-looking cock prods at his hole, and Dante doesn’t stop laughing as the fury gives a deep, toe-curling push inside him.

                Boots and forearms scrabbling against the rocky floor, Dante shoves himself onto all fours. The stretch is intense, probably would be unbearable if he were all human; as it is, his body adjusts around it quickly, and he feels the fury rumbling and panting on top of him, he’s already egging it on to go harder, quicker.

                “You were all fast before, weren’t you?” he says, past his heaving breaths. “C’mon, don’t slow down on my account.”

                The hot breath at the back of his neck stutters as the fury makes sense of his words. Dante can feel the moment the taunt lands, because its palm settles between his shoulder blades and he’s being shoved back onto the ground, held down tight with his front squished against the unyielding rock. Dante gasps in surprise as it drags its cock slowly out, claws of its other hand scratching deep gouges into his ass.

                “Aw, don’t be mad,” says Dante, grunting at the sting. He feels it dragging its length against his crack, like it just can’t help itself – like it wants to rut into him while fighting against its own need to teach the scrappy human a lesson.

                Normally, Dante likes a bit of push and pull, some hard teasing. Nevan always liked to take her sweet time, riling him up and seeing who could outlast the other; they’d go for hours, sometimes, dragging it out long past reasonable expectations.

                But that haze in his head fires up his impatient side, the side that wants to get _fucked_. It simmers under his skin and makes his fingernails scratch against the rocky floor, it loosens his jaw and makes him pant wetly through the dirty curtain of his hair as he grinds his words out:  

                “You get right back to business now or I’m gonna sit back up and pull your head off, buddy.”

                He thinks, maybe, that it’s the cruelest he’s ever sounded.

                And it works – because the fury hisses and slams that big, painful cock right back into him like it’s a fight. Dante grunts, screwing his eyes shut and twitching back toward it, demanding more. Past the ringing in his ears he hears the wet squelch of it fucking him, and the sound of its rough, scaly hide slapping harshly against his.

                “Oh, _yeah_ ,” he pants, riding the high of a good, hard reaming. “Goddamn, you’re a leaky one, aren’t you?”

                He can feel rivulets of its slick streaking down the backs of his chafed thighs, and the way it makes his hole feel sloppy and more used than its ever been. The fury’s hand at his back shoves him harder into the ground, knocking the breath out of him for the jab.

                “Hey, it’s a compliment,” he gasps.

                Dante goes completely slack, letting himself get used like a doll. “Here’s a lesson for ya,” he slurs. “Wetter is better – or, _ooh_ , something like that…”

                He’s sure his brain has stopped working. His tongue feels clunky in his own head, and cock bobs heavily between his legs, aching to be touched. The ringing in his ears is nearly deafening, and he shuts his sensitive eyes to block out the over bright, searing colour of the world.   

                The fury’s pace quickens, that telltale sign of getting close. Universal, even in demons.

                “Oh no,” Dante snaps, eyes blinking open. “No way you get to finish before I do.”

                He jabs his elbow back, hitting it hard in the guts. The creature snarls, jaws snapping by his ears in warning – though to its credit, it isn’t offended enough to quit thrusting. One of its teeth nicks his ear and Dante huffs, reaching back for one of its hands and dragging it impatiently between his legs.

                “Another lesson, in manners,” he says, nudging his cock against its palm. The feel of those jagged scales on the sensitive skin of his dick makes him shiver. “Always go for the reach-around.”  

                It listens – and then it’s a straight shot to the finish, after that. It jerks him hard, grip tight enough to hurt. But Dante doesn’t care – even likes it that way – as he bucks into its grip on his cock and back into its thrusts in his ass in what has to be the most desperate, undignified display of his life. He’s nearly shouting as he finally comes, dripping onto its shimmering scales and clutching at it like he’s going to fall to pieces if he doesn’t.  

                Crumbling into a ragged mess onto the ground, he lets it hover over him and ride out its own orgasm, rocking into him so hard he can feel the powerful muscles in its legs tense.

                “That feel nice?” he pants, grinning at the way its tail flails behind it.

                He can _feel_ his ass getting pumped full, shivering in pleasure at the sensation. When the fury pulls out of him, dragging out a sticky glob of its cum along with it, Dante grunts in satisfaction. That haze in his head has started to dissipate, leaving behind a startling burn of clarity; he feels every scratch and scrape, the tension in his legs and the ache in his hips.

                He feels well-used, and he tramples down on the urge to thank it for such a stellar time.

                The fury draws back from him completely, rumbling low in its throat. As Dante stands and pulls his pants back on, languid and slow, he eyes the way it starts coming to its senses. Soon enough, pale eyes lock onto his and the glow starts up again in its arm, the red blade coalescing sharply into being.

                “Hey, not gonna respect me after all that?” asks Dante, quickly dodging its lunge. “Then I guess…”   

                He snatches his sword from the ground, deftly spinning away from a swipe aimed for his naked middle. Laughing, feeling nearly boneless with delight, Dante brings his sword up in a wide arc upward as the creature tries to jump him, cleaving it in two.     

                “…here _endeth_ the lesson,” says Dante, watching it fall to the ground and exploding into a pool of bloody red orbs.

                He takes his time getting dressed, and whistles as he makes his way forward, a jump to his step.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Riffed from Buffy a bit lol


End file.
